


The World Will Never Know You Like I Do

by L_ThankYouHBK1



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Carpenter!TormundGiantsbane, Fluff and Angst, Long Lost Husbands, Lots of Cursing, M/M, No Beta Forgive Me, Pining, RockGod!JonSnow, Still Married, country life, cursing, smut down the line
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 23:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30130767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_ThankYouHBK1/pseuds/L_ThankYouHBK1
Summary: Another ring, and his temper snaps as he smashes the green button.  “For fucks sake, what?”“Jon, what the fuck?”“Yes Edd, WHAT the fuck?”“Have you even looked at your phone this morning?”“Fuck no, its not even morning Edd.  What kind of manager calls me before 11AM?”“Are you married?”No. Of course not.  But he sneaks a glance down at his left hand, thinking very hard about what actually went down at the bar last night. Nah.  He’d remember something like that.“No Edd, what the hell?”“Oh ok, so you don’t know a… a Tor-mund.  A Tormund Giants-bane?”Jon’s mouth goes dry.  He could easily admit to never thinking about Tormund, but it would be a fucking lie.
Relationships: Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	The World Will Never Know You Like I Do

**Author's Note:**

> Having a little fun with an old trope. Rock god Jon Snow was inspired by louhetar's amazing Black Orchid Series and a sexy bath tub shot of my favorite Jon Snow look-alike Zee <3 I hope you enjoy these boys as much as I do!
> 
> PS...I listened to Shinedown's "Through the ghost" on repeat while writing:
> 
> "Did you hide yourself away?  
> I can't see you anymore.  
> Did you eclipse another day?  
> I used to wake up to the color of your soul.
> 
> Did you hide yourself away?  
> Are you living through the ghost?  
> Did you finally find a place  
> above the shadows so the world will never know?  
> The world will never know you like I do.
> 
> Like I still do."

The phone rings and Jon silences it again, groaning into his pillow. His head is throbbing, and his stomach feels like its started to eat itself. Apparently, one cannot survive on bourbon and cigarettes alone. Noted. He rolls over to bury his forehead in the cool silk sheets and bumps into a figure beside him. Shit. He forgot he wasn’t alone. He hates the morning after. When every last drop of stage adrenaline is used up and his liquor-fueled confidence reads empty. When his anxiety grows horns. 

The urge to burrow under the blankets until spring is strong but the call of nature is stronger and he stumbles from the bed. Cursing, he searches for his boxers amongst the clothing scattered across the floor. He leaves the bathroom light off and leans heavy into the medicine cabinet, gulping down the dregs of bourbon left balancing on the back of the toilet. 

Seriously, someone is playing the double-bass pedal on his temples. He is gonna need something stronger than bourbon. He blinks at his watch, fucking 9AM. He had only gone to sleep a few hours ago, what day was it anyway? A small knock at the door and he doesn’t bother to suppress another groan. 

“Your phone won’t stop.” Mr Blue eyes passes him the phone and he manages a grunt before he closes the door in his face. 

What the fuck was his name? He doesn’t dwell on it. Last night was clearly pretty forgettable. Still, those eyes.

Another ring, and his temper snaps as he smashes the green button. “For fucks sake, what?”

“Jon, what the fuck?”

“Yes Edd, WHAT the fuck?”

“Have you even looked at your phone this morning?”

“Fuck no, its not even morning Edd. What kind of manager calls me before 11AM?”

“Are you married?”

No. Of course not. But he sneaks a glance down at his left hand, thinking very hard about what actually went down at the bar last night. Nah. He’d remember something like that.

“No Edd, what the hell?”

“Oh ok, so you don’t know a… a Tor-mund. A Tormund Giants-bane?”

Jon’s mouth goes dry. He could easily admit to never thinking about Tormund, but it would be a fucking lie. 

“Judging by your lack of response, I have reason to worry”

No. Tormund would have taken care of this. He may have let it ride for a year or two on the off chance of successfully pissing Jon off but eventually…

“Jon?”

“I’ll take care of it”

He lets the phone tumble to the vanity and splashes cold water on his face. He tosses Mr Blue eyes to the curb and calls his lawyer. 

It made sense now, how his long buried past rose from the dead. That damn reporter Jon had tossed halfway through his last interview. The guy had gone all touchy feely. Asking him about his northern roots and growing up in the rural wilderness. Did he have any high school sweethearts when he was a nobody from nowhere? He dodged, but the guy kept pressing, until Jon remembered who the fuck was in charge. He sent the guy packing and smashed his camera for good measure. But the fucker clearly wasn’t finished. He had managed to dig up some old Winterfell county records and a handful of photos from a treasonous old acquaintance or two. 

There he was on the front page of Entertainment Weekly, skinny and knobby kneed, leaning against a giant with a ridiculous grin and wild red hair. His companion’s strong arms were on full display, one tucked into his jean pocket and the other laying across Jon’s chest. Possessive. Something inside him burns.

“Married, you?” Gren laughs, choking on the smoke filling up the bathroom.

“I told you, not anymore” Jon huffs and reaches for the bottle balancing on the bathtub. It falls and spins away from him making Gren laugh more. Jon sinks lower in the tub, kicking his heavy boots up to rest on the ledge. He hasn’t slept in days. He wishes he were numb, but his skin is on fire. His shredded tank rides up and his back sizzles as it meets the cool tiles beneath him. 

“Who in their right mind would marry you?” Pyp snickers and leans into Jon’s space, sliding the bottle back into his waiting fingers. He drinks and he burns.

“Crowds about to lose their shit”, a voice from outside calls. Nobody moves.

“So if you’re still married is this dude gonna take you for a ride now that you’re famous? Doesn’t he get like, half?” Gren looks serious now, but Jon just closes his eyes. 

The thought of Tormund trying to go after his money was hilarious at best. When they were young, the big oaf wore the same 3-4 outfits consistently and built and re-built the engine of his rusty pickup truck.  
He stayed in the same drafty old cabin, even after the last of his family had passed and left him with a decent bit of coin. 

“Its all just a misunderstanding”, he sighed. God he was so damn tired.

“Then why did he send the papers back?”

His stomach turned. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know anything. His lawyer had sent out the divorce papers to be signed and called when he received them back. Nothing but ashes in the envelope. He’d be happy to resend them, and bill Jon again of course. What the actual fuck Giantsbane!

The door flies open and Jon meets Ed flustered face. 

“Jon! What’s going on in here? Are you drunk? Of course, you’re drunk”

“Chill Ed”, Pyp is still laughing, billows of smoke roll out of his mouth, “you know the people will literally wait all night”

Ed just hands Jon his phone. 

A paparazzi frenzy is unfolding. He doesn’t know what he is looking at, until he does. Fiery red hair pushing through a sea of cameras and recorders. He isn’t ready for that voice. The northern burr that rattles his spine. No comment, no comment. The man has nothing to say to the hoard outside his door. Reporters ask him. Does he have something to say to Jon Snow? The man turns and stares directly into the camera. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth and he runs big hands through his beard. I guess we’ll have to fucking wait and see. 

Tormund fucking Giantsbane.

The bathroom is silent until Gren moves to his feet, lifting Jon from the tub and swatting him on the back. “Aww congrats man! Does this mean more groupies for us?” 

Jon flashes his best fuck-you smile and lets himself be pulled on stage.

A few songs in and the normal stage buzz he relies on is painfully absent. Sweat pours from his body but he feels nothing but ice in his veins. At least three quarters of the set is over. What the hell had they even been playing? The crowd is deafening. Idle fingers ghost over the scar on his chest and 10,000 screaming fans can’t fill the hole he imagines there.

The music is so distorted he doesn’t think anyone would notice if he just stopped singing completely. In fact, he knows they won’t. Jon slides across the stage, shoves his guitar into Pyp’s stomach and leans in close.

“I’m going home”. And the smile Pyp’s been carrying all night dies on his face.

Jon’s already climbing album sales go through the roof. Fans download every angsty love song in his library and flock to social media to pull apart lyrics and gush on the most intimate pieces of his lost love life. He ditches the subtle limo and pulls out the silver Ferrari he keeps to appease the paparazzi. Its easier to be what he’s expected to be. He sets his sites on the past and drives.

He puts the hot rod in park outside the local record store and passersby are already starting to gawk. He steps out stretching and meets a few stray cell phone flashes. This was gonna be easy. His black leather pants are painted on, clinging dangerously low on his hips. He is dripping in gunmetal piercings and his torn-up t-shirt pops under a well-worn studded jacket that hits him in all the right places. He runs black nails through his dark lose hair, wild and long past his shoulders. He smirks, adjusting his shades as he takes his first autograph request.

Twenty minutes later and he’s in the middle of a sea of bodies stretched across main street blocking traffic. He steels himself against his growing anxiety, setting his jaw and firing through autographs and selfies. He’s here for a reason. He’s gonna shake up Tor’s quiet little life so badly he’ll sign whatever Jon asks him to. When the news crews arrive he starts pushing through the crowd to the nearby hardware store. 

A bell chimes over his head as he enters. The crowd behind him surges forward and he slams the door in their faces, muffling screams and rouge camera flashes. He meets the eyes of two men at the counter. An old man with thinning grey hair stares, mouth on the floor. The red head next to him is a statue, face unchanged, as if it was any normal Thursday afternoon.

“Roger” Tormund mutters, stepping from the behind the counter, “have you met my husband Jon Snow?” And he smiles. The fucker smiles, like he’s been waiting on Jon all day.

“Oh uhhhh” the old man stutters a moment before stepping forward with an outstretched hand, “I… I believe my grandson is a big fan”.

Jon doesn’t move. Doesn’t take his eyes off of Tormund. He hears the old man excusing himself somewhere in the background. Hears the door chime again, the screams of the crowd, then silence.

“Well, I know you are some kind of rock god now, but you don’t have to be rude to the customers little crow” Tormund scolds casually.

Jon shudders at the pet name but schools his face.

More silence. He starts to worry he has forgotten how to speak.

“Its nice to see you Jon”, Tormund grins moving his eyes down his body, literally drinking him in. Jon clenches his jaw and remembers himself.

“My lawyer got the divorce papers” he hisses. “Mailing the charred ashes back was a nice touch”

“Are you thirsty?” Tormund reaches into a nearby cooler and pulls out a soda, “Seems you put on quite a little show out there”.

“You need to sign the papers”

“I can’t, sorry.”

The door opens slightly, and Jon kicks it shut, locking the door and throwing up the closed sign. More camera flashes.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“Well, I believe I’ll pack up for the day.” He takes a long swig of soda, looks out the window at the crowd and sighs dramatically, “Don’t think there will be many more sales with all this excitement”

“Tormund, I’m not leaving until you sign”

“Great so you’re staying, come over to the house tonight? I’ll cook us up some dinner. You do still eat don’t you?” He looks him up and down again. “Or do you just drink your calories these days?”

“I’m not coming over to the house, we’ll get fucking mobbed”

“It’ll be fine, just leave the security to me”

“Tormund, what the fuck do you want? You want your husband back? You want that quiet, insecure nobody who couldn’t take a piss on his own? I don’t even know who that guy is anymore.”

Tormund barrel laughs, and pats Jon on the back hard. He grabs his bag and moves to the door. “Well, little crow, allow me to remind you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! More to come!


End file.
